


The Hilton Room 203

by agoodwoman



Series: Belfast [1]
Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2662976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodwoman/pseuds/agoodwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened that night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hilton Room 203

  
There were certain things Stella Gibson knew and would never know. She had instinct to guide her through life quite successfully and they brought her many joys, pleasures and helped her avoid a few disappointments. After twenty five years of bedding men, she had learned and knew what she wanted and what she didn't, what she liked and how to get it without a lot of fuss.

  
She had an educated mind, able to pull facts from her schooling in anthropology of tribes in China, Tibet, and old old republic of Zaire out of a hat for reference. She took behavioural psychology and could find a way into the mind of a suspect without worrying she was giving too much away. If she knew the facts, memorized the rules, she couldn't be caught in the wrong. At least not procedurally among her colleagues. She was a woman in facts in her brain and instincts in her belly.

She was certain about many things in her life, about herself and had knowledge about her body that came with time and experience. She knew that she could wash her blonde locks on Monday morning at the hotel, dry them and style it with the right brush and the curl, that used to torment her as a teen when everyone was past the 70s blowout, would look deliberately styled until Wednesday afteroon. This was handy when she was working long hours and sleeping on cots in cool offices off precinct squad rooms. She knew one glass of red wine and a thick hamburger wasn't going to make her clothes too tight to fit into but when she did seem to gain weight it went to her breasts and her backside first. Her mother assured her when she was fifteen and filling out her jeans that she would be grateful for this as she got older and she was. She knew coloured nail varnish wasn't appropriate for an officer of the Metropolitan Police so she stuck to a clear coat. And she knew that the quickest way to make herself orgasm was a position of control.

She might never know the feeling of a baby growing inside her; the sharp kicks and whirling movements of creating new life. She could only imagine how hard it was for uneducated women who grew up in low class families, only to take over the family business of prostituting themselves out to pay the rent. Above all, she didn't know what it was like to feel intimidated by a man, just because she was a woman. She required more than that to affect her attitudes and behaviour. Having a penis did not deem respect and in fact, she expected her male counterparts to prove themselves just as though they took one look at her, with blonde hair, a petite frame, curves that enticed wicked thoughts and deemed her unworthy of her rank. They assumed she slept her way to the top when nothing could be furher from the truth. They assumed these things about her so she expected them to be just as good as she was at her job.

  
In her forties, she could sense immediately a man's attraction to her. It was just three different signs, a sense that came onto her radar. If she wanted something, she went after it. It almost felt cliche to think that of herself however she did not ever want her life to be lacking in any way.  
The youngest man she had attracted since her 40th birthday was almost a boy at 23. She made an exception because he was fit, smart and provided her with enought of an outlet during a hard case. No one should ever discovered 'prime cuts' of a woman who once was in a freezer. You can only work off tension through exercise for so long before your body demands a different kind of release. He looked older than 23 and she told him that after their third go around. 

He took a sip of his red wine and winked at her. "I had to grow up quickly in my neighbourhood."

  
"Where's that?"she asked. The lavendar scented beads she used on the quilt wafted up to her and she wondered if lavendar would remind her of this moment for a while or she could purge the sense memory with someone else.

   
"I grew up in Cheam, near the high street," he said mischeviously and put his glass on the coffee table. He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. 

  
Cheam was the least likely place anyone would have to grow up quickly. It was filled with mostly upper middle class citizens who wanted to be close to London for the culture but far enough away they could appreciate a quieter space. The families employed nannies and housekeepers to keep the ladies, whether they worked or not, from appearing too domestic and the parks were always clean. Not exactly a rough neighbourhood. Even near the high street.

  
She enjoyed his banter but decided not to press further for details. She didn't need that to enjoy his company. The possibility of fucking a man the fourth time in 5 hours was inspiring a wetness between her legs. She didn't necessarily plan this to occupy the entire 24 hours she had off from the Met and she knew she would be sore but perhaps that would also serve as a distraction if things became too intense with their interviews. A welcomed reminder that her life was not just this case, this murderer, this series of crimes against women.  
Details and personal information wasn't pertinent for what she needed him for. The less she knew of him, the better.

  
Seeing James Olson on the street was pure luck. She would be in Belfast for a week, maybe two. She could release any tension she had immediately and focus her mind on the murder of Alice Monroe. Simple and uncomplicated. Exactly what a woman like Stella Gibson wanted.   
Reacting on instinct, she told Ferrington to introduce her. What she wanted was what he was. He was a fine example of a young man in his early 30s. Tall. Fit. Muscular. The adjectives played in her mind as Officer Brian Stone pulled the car to the narrow shoulder on a damp street in a shoddy end in Belfast.

  
Her escort home, Danielle Ferrington, and Stella approached him without speaking to one another. Stella appeared to be interested in his case as Dani explained why Stella was in town, dutifully introducing Stella to James.

  
"I'm staying at the Hilton," she said after giving an approximate timeline of her stay.

Olson nodded appreciatively and stated his approval at the somewhat upscale stature of her accomodations. 

"Room 203," she stated confidently with a smirk.

His slightly relaxed demeanour changed from one of vague interest to that of a man aware of a woman he had a chance to take to bed. Stella could sense that change in a man from the tone of his voice, a clench of a jaw or a straightness in his posture.

  
As Olson was called away, Stella encouraged him luck with his arrests. The walk back to the car was silent.

  
What the detective superintendent could sense from the young patrol cop to her right was that she wouldn't gossip the exchange she witness and it wouldn't be repeated to her partner. If Dani had any questions, Stella was experienced enough to rebuff them. A raised eyebrow and a small smile always gave enough information that polite conversation didn't require further probing. Anyone crude enough to push for more facts would get the hard truths in clinical facts, phrased in a way as to not sound juicy or tawdry but plain and almost uninteresting.

_Fact: I needed a sexual release. Fact: I was attracted to a man I saw on the street. Fact: I invited him back to my room for sexual intercourse._

  
Stella ate at her leisure in the dining room after Ned Callan left her alone. She enjoyed her scotch and allowed the amber liquid to tickle her tastebuds between bites of angel hair pasta. She enjoyed a second glass of scotch before retiring back to her room.

   
Once back in the sanctuary of room 203, she brushed her teeth, set out her clothes off the closet for the next morning and glanced over the notes she had taken that day. She was starting to wind down, and she pulled her nightgown from the top of her case. It was 2 a.m. and she wasn't specifically expecting him that night. Although it would be welcome, even at the late hour.

 

The soft knock at her door caused an increase in her heart rate. Anticipation. Arousal.

 

"I wasn't sure this is what you meant," he confessed.

 

She slowly took the 'do not disturb' sign off the inside of her door and hung the plastic rebuffer to maid staff ontothe gold handle. 

 

"It's what I meant," she said and stepped back to allow him to enter.

 

He walked past her and she could smell his leather jacket, a faint hint of his spicy cologne and he raw, masculine scent lingering underneath from a 12 hour shift as a Belfast detective. It stung her nostrils and quickened her pulse. Something as primal as the vibrant scent of his sweat and skin made her mouth water the way a cat fels hunger for the taste of a mouse between its teeth.

  
Unlike certain women she spoke with, she didn't need a lot of precursor or cajoling to the act itself. The foreplay wasn't necessary to her reaching orgasm  and tonight she hoped would be a quiet coupling. She didn't want to hear about his girlfriend, his dog or a problem at work. At the utmost, she did not want to discuss his case in the slightest as her mind was already busy with one puzzle for the time being.

 

"I should take a shower," he said as though he was accustomed to cleaning every sign of his manliness and pheremones off his body before penetrating a woman.

  
Stella wondered if that was a habit developed in a long term relationship of the past or one he was currently in. She pushed the thoughts aside as she put his holster on the chair nearby.

 

"No need. I like it."

 

Olson dropped his jacket on the bed behind him as he turned to facer her. He was studying her face for a green light. She liked his round eyes and tanned skin. She ran her fingers along the hem of his shirt and pulled it away from his toned stomach. Long fingers nudged hers to help as his head dipped down to kiss her. Gently, she stopped him, stilling his hands, silently telling him without rebuke she would be doing things her way.

 

His mouth neared hers again and she could smell mint and coffee on his breath. She opened hers to him and tilted her head, keeping her hands on his to ensure they stayed off her. She would touch, she would control.

 

Tentatively his tongue reached out to her mouth and Stella pressed her mouth more firmly to hers as they exchanged air, slippery tongues sliding against one another. With her heels on she was able to feel his hardness against her belly and was satisfied at the length and girth. Wetness pooled in her silky black knickers. Slowly she raised the shirt and helped it over his head, brushing the backs of her fingers along the taught skin of his chest.

 

Slowly her hands moved from his pecks up to his shoulders and she pushed him down and back onto the bed. It was easy to maintain eye contact with a man as she reached up under her skirt to pull down her underwear, the leather of her shoes squeaking on the carpet.   
He pulled a condom wrapper out of his pocket and held it between his fingers. A smirk pulled at the corner of mouth and he licked his lower lip. Of all the things that were talked to death, discussed ad nauseum, sex could be a silent conversation between two people if one only paid attention.

 

She gave him a slight nod and he took that as a sign to open his jeans, pull his boxer briefs down and free his turgid flesh. He was long, thick and beautiful. The condom rolled on and she held her skirt away from her, as young woman of the royal court would curtsey a gentleman, to climb onto his lap. 

 

"I want to see you," he said, his voice wavering. 

 

Stella slowly brought her hands upto her blouse and he tugged at the buttons. Withouth warning she sank down onto him and his eyes widened. No touching, absence of manual and oral stimulation and her body was ready for him. Gently, she pushed his hands aside and gave him a warning look. She continued to unbutton her blouse and he held his hands out to his side, afraid to move them in fear of another silent rebuke.  

 

As far as James Olson knew, he could be sent out for poor performance and perhaps hers was a three strike policy. What he didn't know was that aside from forcing her head down to perform oral sex, because that should always be a woman's perrogative, he was safe from being sent away. She needed him, his body and what the release intercourse could provide that her own manual stimulation could not. She needed to smell his skin, to have a man between her thighs and hear the sounds he made as she rode him. 

 

He watched her tuck her curled locks tresses behind her ear, slowly lean down and rise up to bring the tip of his thick cock right to the edge of her entrance and captured his lips again. 

 

They kissed passionately and deeply, his member throbbing and she noted of the things James Olson had skill, sex so far was definiitely one of them. But she imagined his experience varied drastically from what she anticipated for them. She imagined docile and eager to please younger women, allowing him to penetrate them from behind or laying passively while he did all the work. It wasn't enough for Stella Gibson to have sex, she needed to ensure her orgasm was explosive. Not every man in her past was able to provide that.

 

The first few strokes up and down were slow, her small body accomodating him. As two lovers do, she kept her eyes on him, open to his face to ensure he could see her pleasure as she watched his.

 

Just as she became accustomed to the pace, she sped up. And she sped up again. He needed to be closer to her, he wanted to bury his face between her breasts and suckle at her nipples but he had already had two strikes. Her pace increased and the feeling in his balls intensified. Risking it, sensing her closeness, he propped himself up on one arm to give himself more leverage. She held on with her left arm as the other reached between their bodies.

 

His eyes widened as he realized what she was about to do. 

 

No woman he had ever been with, especially on a first sexual encounter, had chosen to be on top and brazingly worked toward her own orgasm. This would not be something he could duplicate at home with a crowded queen sized bed of children encroaching on intimacy with his wife of 9 years. They were faithful until the kids came along and schedules, exhaustion and debt came between them.

   
A grunt escaped out of his throat, past his lips as her breasts bounced in front of his face. The lace looked soft as the silky blouse she kept mostly on. He could feel her finger, possibly the middle one, nudging against the base of his dick as she worked her clitoris to ensure her release. 

  
Her strokes up and down became erratic and he realised she was getting close. Then, to his surprse she removed her hand and went still, her cunt gripping him like a vise and squeezing him.  He could feel the sharpness of fingernails digging into his trapezious muscle. Not enough to scratch but enough to leave indentations.

  
"Gauh," was the only way to describe the sound that expelled from his lips and her muscles worked him and she let out a long moan. It was the most sound she had made since he arrived. James Olson waited a moment and thrust upwards three more times before releasing his seed into the latex sheath.

  
A long breath was released from her lungs and she momentarily rested her head on his shoulder. Then, as gingerly as she climbed on top of him, she climbed off. He tried not to look disappointed that she was almost completely dressed. He guessed she was forty but her body was toned, but soft in every place a woman was suppsed to be. 

  
Once he had his legs about him, he stood up to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her move toward the window, out to the view of twinkling lights and a train that ran at all times.

  
He washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He watched his member shrink back to its flaccid size as he disposed of the condom in the waste bin. 

  
The clock read 2:45 am on the wall near the light and he wondered if that was correct. Everything that had just transpired left him feeling saited but he knew his body. He knew he could be ready in another five or ten minutes if inspired and Detective Superintendent Stella Gibson was quite inspiring.

  
_If she's anything like the other women -_  he stopped that thought. She was nothing like any other woman. She was quiet when she came. She didn't put on a show for him and she certainly ensured her needs were taken care of. 

  
He didn't have a single feeling of guilt about what went on between them. He and his wife still enjoyed each others company, they were friends but there wasn't the same spark as when they got together. Occasionally he had the idea that Breedlove would step in, if he hadn't already. Olson wanted to tell Breedlove he wouldn't be the first member of the Belfast Police who had been there after they married and he was sure he wasn't the last. A fickle thing, young love. Bitterness was stronger and she certainly had his dalliances to throw in his face and enjoyed doing it often to prevent any kind of true intimacy and trust from being built up again. 

  
James took a piss and washed his hands again. If he was going to leave this hotel room before dawn, he wanted more of her.   
When he came out of the bathroom he saw her standing by the window, one arm across her waist and the other rubbing her collarbone. Silhouetted against the glow from the bedside lamp, her blonde hair made her almost look angelic. Something pure. Something other than the woman he just sat beneath for a surprising orgasm.

  
Seeing his reflection in the window, she turned to him and gave a half smile, one that gave nothing away. James came up to her and kissed her softly, placing his hands on her hips and pushing her back toward the bed. His feeling was that if she would have him again, he would try to make this last as long as he could. Stella put her hands up on his bare chest and he took her wrist in his hand, pulled it toward his lips and kissed her where her perfume had been sprinkled over 16 hours previous. Her skin was sweet.

  
Her knees hit the bed and as he gently pushed her down, her eyes widened slightly. She gave him a look to convey he should not be expecting fellatio. It was Olson's turn to smirk as he dropped to his knees and grabbed her ankles.

 

"What-"

 

Her question was answered as he kissed the inside of her creamy white knees, in a pattern that could only be following the few freckles that had landed there after a week in the South of France with too much wine and not enough sunscreen. She could feel a tongue dart out and begin to draw a path toward her centre. 

  
Quickly she put her hands over her mound and stopped his assent. 

 

"I don't think it's polite to do that," he teased. 

 

She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him as he tugged her legs further apart. A cocked eyebrow and a smirk appeared on her face.  
"You might enjoy it," he teased again as though he could be the first man to ever want to kiss and taste her there.

 

Stella ran her pink tongue along top lip and kept her face serious.

 

"I might enjoy doing it, too," he said as he snuck his hand further up her thigh. A silky wetness met his long digit and he pulled it back to his lips. He put the tip of his finger in his mouth. It was sweet and musky, heady and like honey. With his other hand he pulled hers away from stopping him.

 

"Stella," he said her name like a statement of assurance. It wasn't an act she allowed because it sometimes felt as though she was being open and submissive, even thought she was the one being treated. But since she had enjoyed her second glass of scotch, she gave a slight nod and let her head fall back against the bed.

 

James pushed her skirt up around her waist and took in the view. He didn't want to say anything too crude to have him slapped away but it was a sight to be seen. This refined woman, allowing him this act and all he could think was _I'm going to lick you so good._ She probably didn't appreciate the dirty talk so he kept his inner monologue to himself.

 

He kissed her pelvis and she shuddered, letting out a surprised moan. Gently his lips kissed from her left hip bone to the right, his teeth scraping at the smooth flesh and bone. Her back arched and her bones protruded, her belly arching. Olson smiled, this wasn't even the main event.

 

As his tongue darted out from his mouth to her inner thigh he kissed and lapped at her like an ice cream until sticking his tongue between her folds. The blonde hair was trimmed short and he could see her clitoris slightly between her lips. As he licked and traced his way around her bundle of nerves, a hand gently threaded fingers into his hair.

 

One swipe across that precious button and her fingers clenched at his scalp, fingers digging in. Another swipe across and he used his hands to spread her more open to him. A lick up her centre, a circle around and then a finger inserted inside her tight walls.  

 

"Oh!" She cried. 

 

The finger bent and crooked forward as his tongue continued to massage her clitoris. James let out a long breath, careful not to blow into her and retracted his finger to push back in. 

 

"Oh Jesus!" She cried again, louder this time.

 

James lifted his head and put a finger to his lips, "Hush now, we don't want anyone thinking something is goin' on in here."

 

Her cheeks flushed and her arousal overwhelming, she pushed his head down and threw an arm across her mouth. Dilligent and determined to ensure her enjoyment was by something other than her own hand, he continued at his task, thrusting with his fingers while simultaneously swirling his tongue, around in small circles then flattening his tongue to make broad strokes across her sex. It was overwhelming. It was almost too much of a sensory overload. Almost.

  
At this personal and vulnerable act, she moaned and cried out as quietly as she could manage. He was good at this.

 

Her hips began to move, griding against his face towards ecstasy. She could feel her thighs beginning to quake and the tightness in her belly come to a breaking point. The pressure in her belly clenched around his fingers and wetness gushed over his palm.

 

"Oh! Jesus!" She cried out again as excuisite release found her, down her thighs and nerves tingling to her toes. Much different than the orgasm before. But as soon as the orgasm burnt off its flame within her belly, it became too much.

 

"Stop," she pleaded. "Stop..."

 

James raised his head but left his finger inside her. "Stop?" 

 

His finger pressed again towards the front, massaging an often ignored location, the elusive G-spot and her eyes shot open wide. Gently, he continued his massage and another orgasm swept over her. She shuddered as she came again. This time she kept silent, letting out a long breath, her lips in a perfect 'O'. 

 

Stella put her hand gently but quickly on his, through her skirt. James, still kneeling on the floor looked up at her and studied her flushed cheeks, the blush to her chest and down her torso. He withdrew his long digit from her well and decided that she wasn't the type of woman who would enjoy watching him lick her juices from his hand. Then he suddenly realized, maybe she was. 

  
Instinct told him to keep going, that she didn't want him gone yet. The detective superintendent was not sure what she wanted. After oral sex, she always was left feeling empty but not hollow or guilty, as though she had sinned. She desired penetration, to feel fullness of a man inside her womb, however sometimes the act was performed by a man who was done for the night when she wasn't. Such was the gamble with the act between two strangers. She wouldn't tell him she needed to feel him inside of her again and so he could only know if he tried. 

  
She wasn't sure how things had gotten so out of her control but she wanted it back quickly. 

 

He moved slowly over her on the bed and kissed her lips. A pink tongue darted out from behind her flush mouth and licked his lips before pushing past his teeth, tasting all of her juices. 

 

He suddenly thought he should have licked his fingers, still damp and clutching the bedding beside her. Before he had too long to ponder it, she nudged his burgeoning erection with her calf, lightly grazing it.

 

"Hold on," he said and left her to get another condom. She lay still and listened to the sound of the foil packet tear open, free from its confinement and then roll onto what she estimated was over seven inches of flesh.

 

He appeared over her again. Another smirk danced across her mouth as she thought of him 'ready, willing and able.' The thought left as soon as it came when he nudged her opening with his thickness and began to push into her.

  
There was something completely different about having the weight of a man on top of her, instead of beneath her. She began to think of how different he was being and she wanted things to go back into her hands. She needed that. 

  
He pushed further still until he was completely inside her and she bit down on her lip as he hit her cervix. Looking directly into his eyes, she clenched her inner muscles. Olson let out a long sigh and dropped his head to her shoulder. They rocked their hips against one another, both of their bodies adjusting to this new position.

  
Stella held her hands still on his shoulderblades, his body close to hers, their combined scents filling the room. 

  
He pulled his pelvis back thrust into her hard and her nails dug into the smooth flesh on his shoulderblades. He did it again and her nails felt as they were the claws on a cat, piercing a layer of fabric. Stella was quite comfortable with his body above hers. 

  
A few thrusts and he would press his pelvis against hers, watching her face as she did his. If he was asking permission to continue at this pace, she gave it. Slow retreat, quick to push in, hard to thrust and a pause as he filled her. Her hips tilted down toward the matress in an attempt to stimulate her oversensitive clitoris. If he kept this up, she could come again, so could he and she could sleep a few hours before the morning. 

  
After a few minutes of their rhythm, he stopped. Without prompting, Olson pulled her left then her right knee up and against the matress, until she was spread open wide to him. His body covered her completely, his forearms pressing into her hips and his mouth inches away from her.  
Lips met, the sweet taste of Stella on their mouths, between their breath and she felt her arousal spike. He thrust harder, harder, and her belly retracted as another orgasm began to build. Suddenly her walls clenched on him, a slow and undeliberate act of almost pushing him out of her. He kept pushing, kept thrusting. If his attempt to bring her to orgasm in this unconvential way of this missionary position, her legs splayed next to her hips, he was succeeding.

  
He wanted badly to touch her breasts, to lick the sweat dripping down from her neck under her half tucked in blouse. He could see pink coral nipples behind the black lace and if he kept thrusting, she might pop out the top. 

  
The movement of their bodies, the sound of their sexes together and air expelling out of their lungs was the only sound in the room. Stella watched his eyes travel down to her breasts but before she could fondle one to tease him, her walls suddenly clenched down, an orgasm almost by surprise and jaw dropped. Her head pressed back into the matress and she dragged her nails down his back as he continued his movements, enjoying the feeling of her body around his. 

  
As quickly as her last orgasm had taken her over, another one started to build. The blessing of the multiple orgasms of a woman's body was never a disappointment to Stella however she didn't rely on her to feel saited. 

  
Suddenly, he pulled out and threw her left leg over and entered her as she lay on her side. Frantically, her arms clutched at the king sized pillow, pushing her hands toward the headboard for leverage. Her eyes were wild as she looked up at him, over her left shoulder, her knees touching her elbows, curled in almost a fetal position. 

  
Then he pulled his member out from her completely and stood on the floor. Quietly, he pulled her to stand, turned her around and bent her over the bed.

  
_Oh god... No..._ she thought. This was too primal... Too submissive. But nothing felt more right than what he was about to do.

  
Smartly, her skirt was bunched up around her waist, over the milky white mounds of her backside. James Olson tried not to stare but the sight of this woman, bent over with her ass exposed to him was almost enough to make him come again. She stood with her knees locked, bent in half, clutching at the bedding careful of her heels and he thrust into her again.

  
Sharp, manicured fingers grabbed onto the bedspread as he rammed into her. It didnt take long for most men to orgasm in this position which is why she usually tried to avoid it. She wanted more than three minutes of coitus but she was quickly learning, James Olson had more stamina than some of her past lovers.

  
There were no thoughts in her head, just sensations. The bedspread in front of her eyes was starting to make her dizzy as the tiny patterns of the fine woven quilt looked as though they were animated to move in a circular fashion. She closed her eyes and turned her head toward the foot of the bed. 

  
A grunt from behind her reminded Stella that she was not alone, being fucked by just a penis and she looked back up at him. That was all it took for this position to turn from that of a man dominating a woman in an equal act of sex to him being almost of the brink and her body being able to get him there. 

  
She held on for dear life as he began a rapid fire succession toward his release. She didn't think she had it in her, especially after the last orgasm was stopped but her body was wound tight. It knew what she needed. Apparently so did James Olson, because he reached around in front and swiped a clever middle digit across her clitoris three times.

  
They grunted in unison and their bodies exploded together. 

  
"Fuck," he sighed, his hips stilling as his orgasm ended and the tingling in his balls stopped. "Holy shit."

  
Stella collapsed forward on the bed and rolled onto her back. She felt thoroughly fucked and hoped he did too. The sight of his toned body, hard everywhere, and his dick sticking out with another come filled condom hanging onto it for dear life, told her he did too.

  
"God..." she said with a half laugh and gave him an approving smile. What happened here tonight would definitely keep her cool until she went back to London.

 

He looked down at himself and decided that was probably it for the night. He picked up his clothes from the bed and headed toward the bathroom.

  
The echo of the shower turning on filled the suite. 

 

"Do you want to come in?" He called from the bathroom. She could hear the sound of the rubbish bin opening and closing.

  
Stella turned her head on the matress toward the direction of the bathroom. Her heart was still pounding and she didn't think she could stand yet, let alone shower. "You're all right."

 

After a few minutes the water turned off and Stella had moved herself back over to the right hand side of the bed, closer to her case notes, phone, pen and hotel complimentary memo pad.

 

He came out towards her as he adjusted his holster. "Should I take your number then?"

 

She paused. Seeing him again, if it was once before she headed back to London, would be nice but could this evening be duplicated?  
She would be out for fourteen days, perhaps, and working alongside Jim Burns. Although it was easy for her to extract the emotional entanglements of their time together, she hadn't completely forgotten of their tryst. More than a night, less than a long-term affair. 

  
She wrote down the number and hoped he would lose it. Some things cannot be recreated.


End file.
